


Good Things Come In Threes

by seizure7



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Flirting, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 08:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9540188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seizure7/pseuds/seizure7
Summary: Jesse considers himself a rough ‘n’ tumble cowboy. He's got his boots to the ground, dust in his serape, a trusty firearm and a polished belt buckle he wears without an ounce of shame.He's got no problem with snakes, bugs or spiders. But scorpions?No. Just... no.





	

**Author's Note:**

> SCIENTIFIC FACT: I wrote this in a word doc named “One Medium Sized McFlirty”  
> Shout out to [Cioji](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cioji). Who wrote some posts that made me think and reflect for a bit. After I was done I wrote this story.

Jesse considers himself a rough ‘n’ tumble cowboy. He's got his boots to the ground, dust in his serape, a trusty firearm and a polished belt buckle he wears without an ounce of shame.

Snakes? Leave them be or scoop them away with a shovel. Bugs? Not a problem, he’s probably smacked or shooed or flicked away every member of every single species the southwest has to offer. Twice. Spiders are not insects but those arachnids receive the same treatment. Yep, Jesse McCree’s tough and he knows it... but god **damn** do scorpions give him the heebie jeebies. A smart man is aware of his mortal limits and those fleshy translucent tails look meaner than a viper and creepier than a dead man's arm. Don't even get him started on those legs and how they make his skin want to crawl to the nearest international airport. Outstanding bounty be damned.

That particular phobia aside, he's pretty fearless in other areas. Join Deadlock? Sure. Join Blackwatch? Double sure with a side of _yes sir, I prefer not to rot in jail, sir._ Leave Blackwatch? Double- **double** sure. Rejoin Overwatch despite the Petras Act? Absolutely. Go on a mission deep into Deadlock territory with a handsome archer he's been secretly mooning over for the last few months? Not a problem.

Well. Maybe he got a little cocky there.

In the dead of night Jesse finds himself and Hanzo laying low in a hideout on Route 66. Everything is business as usual until he spies something in the corner of his eye. A slice of moonlight glints off a stinger before its owner scuttles into a nearby crate.

"Uh... Hanzo?" Shit. He couldn't stop his panic from warbling his voice.

His companion turns to him with a concerned frown, "What is it?” No doubt his mind's jumping to Deadlock related assumptions, bless his heart.

“I...” Jesse trails off and weighs his options. He could stay silent and spend the night with a poisonous spawn from hell lurking in the shadows, or he could fess up and let Hanzo's opinion of him suffer a dent. Finally he grits out in a single breath, “Scorpion. Isawonegointothatcrateoverthere.”

Hanzo squints as he tries to pick apart the jumble. Squints at the gunslinger’s barely-contained terror. Jesse fully expects Hanzo to sneer at his lily-livered show of weakness- instead within a single breath Hanzo turns, Storm Bow is nocked, drawn and fired into the ground.

A sonic arrow.

The soft rasp of Hanzo's voice sends a shiver up Jesses’s back, "See that which is unseen."

In the dark pool of Hanzo's eyes, twin blue pinpoints bloom into two thin rings before fading away. Jesse recognises enhanced contacts when he sees them but the effect is no less prettier. With the same disciplined grace as before, Hanzo arms himself with a dustpan and proceeds to scoop the critter up and dump it outside. And again. And again. Because _of course_ there were **_THREE_ inside this God-forsaken shack all along.**

Jesse exhales in utter relief when Hanzo returns and settles back down next to him. “Thanks partner, I’d kiss ya right now if I could.”

"Hmm?" The archer quirks an regal brow, "I am positive I have rid this shack of all its pests,” There’s a warm, playful timbre in Hanzo’s voice that makes Jesse freeze, “So...” Hanzo continues with a smirk, “What is stopping you, gunslinger?"

"By the looks of it?" Jesse tips his hat up to take a look around, to gather his bearings before he says, "... Precisely nothing."

"Precisely nothing," repeats Hanzo but in that elegantly clipped accent of his. Like a benevolent king speaking to a fool- except his smile's too kind and tonight Jesse's more than happy to play the role of the risk-taker.

"Well then," murmurs Jesse as he leans in, "Don't mind if I do-"

Their comms click on and suddenly Winston's voice fills their ears to the brim, "Agent Hanzo! Agent McCree! Deadlock is on the move. Please rendezvous with Tracer and Lucio at outpost #3 within 15 minutes."

Ah shoot.

"... Understood," Hanzo's already turned away to adjust the strap of his quiver. Their little moment is shattered like glass at their feet. But nothing is beyond salvageable.

"Come 'ere you," Jesse hastily takes off his hat before kissing Hanzo smack dab on the cheek. Not quite short and not too long. Sweet enough to show he's sincere. Jesse's about to draw back but Hanzo grabs a fistful of his serape.

A flush rises up Jesse's neck with the prickling heat of a day old sunburn- they're so achingly close and the outright cheekiness in Hanzo's gaze is a rare sight to behold. That haughty voice of his could melt anyone's resolve into a puddle of mush, "Jesse. McCree. I threw out _three_ scorpions for you and yet you only reward me once?"

"... Darlin'," he breathes in awe then into a crooked croon, "You’re gonna be the death of me."

He leans in slow this time. Till their foreheads touch. Till he can see those thick dark lashes. Till an impatient sound escapes from the shorter man. With a soft chuckle Jesse presses his second kiss closer to the corner of Hanzo's mouth. As slow, as sweet and as serious as he can afford to be.

He's about to land the third and final one on the other cheek when Hanzo turns. They're exactly eye to eye, nose to nose, breath aligned. Jesse halts. For a delicate moment all is still. Like drops of morning dew on a spider's thread. Apart. But only just so.

"... You bold son of a gun..."

"I have a good role model. He has been in my face for months. He's in my face right now-"

God almighty.

He surges forward. Hanzo stands his ground and gives as good as he gets. Clutching onto his serape like it's a lifeline. Like he's been aching to grab it for a very long time.

Jesse reckons he must've done something right in a past life. Something so noble and heroic that it earned him a fateful encounter with this man. This man who is complicated and charming and so astronomically out of Jesse McCree's league, he might as well be standing on the moon.

Yet here they are.

It's over too soon. Duty calls.

Literally.

A sharp click sounds over their comms and they split before Winston can get another word in.

"We are continuing this later." states Hanzo as he breezes past. Despite his air of professionalism, his cheeks are still flushed pink and a smile is brimming at his lips.

Jesse strides out, hot on his tail and into the cool desert night, "Sure thing, partner, there's more where that came from I gua- _ran_ -tee you."

Hanzo huffs out a laugh. Softened under the splash of moonlight.

Forget Deadeye, tonight Jesse McCree feels like he could spin Peacekeeper's barrel and nail a hundred headshots without it.


End file.
